


Fashion Police, The

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 11:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11334666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Skinner discovers his secretary's true worth when he's naughty at work.





	Fashion Police, The

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

The Fashion Police by m. butterfly

The Fashion Police  
by m. butterfly  
  
Category: M/Sk  
Rating: NC-17 for explicit m/m sex, language  
Spoilers: Alpha, Trevor, SR 819, Redux II  
Archive: Anywhere--just leave my name on it  
Summary: Skinner discovers his secretary's true worth when he's naughty at work.  
Author's notes: I wasn't particularly fond of the Season Six episodes "Alpha" or "Trevor," partly because they weren't very good monster-of-the-week eps, and partly because they didn't include Skinner. *This* story, which is a "bridge" between the two, *does* include the Big Guy--and m/m sex, so run away now if you're squeamish. If you like this kind of stuff, though, you may want to check out my website: http://Skinner.Mulder.com/walfox Feedback is always appreciated (and answered) at .  
Acknowledgments: Lucy Snowe, where would I be without your unbelievable beta-reading skills, loyalty and encouragement? Languishing in cyber limbo, more than likely. I'm so grateful! (You're going to have one helluva great birthday this year, darling!) Also, many thanks to Elizabeth Gerber, webmistress supreme, for creating and maintaining my beautiful website, and to Michael, Susan and Sue for their constant love and support.  
Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me; CC, Ten-Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting own them. I'm just playing with them for a while for my own, not-for-profit amusement. No copyright infringement is intended. Sheesh.

* * *

The Fashion Police  
by m. butterfly

In all of DC, only three people have any idea what I'm really like. Well, maybe six, but no more than that.

And that's fine, because it means the rest of the population--including my superiors (*especially* my superiors)--would never expect me to do some of the things I've done since last October. Like what I did this afternoon.

I wanted to see my lover--boyfriend? significant other? hell, I *still* don't know what to call him--at lunch. What's wrong with that? Nothing, except that he's one of my direct reports, and the FBI generally frowns on that sort of fraternization. 

But I didn't care. I was hungry--for him.

Less than a week ago, Fox came home upset and exhausted from California, where he'd been working on a case. The woman who'd told him about it in the first place was a friend he'd made online: Karin Berquist, one of the world's leading authorities on canine behaviourism. But she hadn't been upfront with him. Not about the case. Not about a lot of things. Like her feelings for him. He had no idea, of course; he can be endearingly naive at times. Well, she wound up dying because of the secrets she was keeping, and he felt partly responsible. 

Fox Mulder, patron saint of the fucked-up. That's probably why I worship the man, but that's another story.

Anyway, Dr. Berquist's death rattled him. He truly believes that anyone who gets close to him is doomed. And you really can't blame him for feeling that way. Starting with his kid sister, he's lost just about everyone he ever cared about, or they've suffered horribly. His partner's miraculous recovery from cancer gave him hope for a while that his life was no longer jinxed. About a year later, the unthinkable happened and we fell desperately in love with each other. Another miracle. Everything's great, right? Wrong. Three months into our relationship, I was infected with something potentially fatal. And now he thinks Karin's blood is on his hands. Shit.

The night he returned to Washington, Fox was more than a little depressed. When he gets that way, he makes love like his life depends on it, and that evening was no exception. We've lived together since just before Christmas--one of those things few people would ever suspect--and I've discovered that Fox Mulder also likes to make love when he's happy, angry, tired, injured, whatever. Before we got together, he and I had been celibate for years, he longer than I, and we're still making up for lost time. I'm pushing 50, so you can imagine what having a gorgeous "youngster" of 37 as a demanding lover does for my ego.

A couple of days later, I came home from a light workout at the gym (doctor's orders) to find him asleep in our bed, fully clothed. He looked so worn out that I left him there until it was time to eat. When I woke him, his eyes were red, like he'd been crying. He can be so goddamned stubborn sometimes, and I practically had to guilt him into telling me what was wrong. He told me he'd received a parcel that morning--an "I Want To Believe" poster, just like the one he lost when his office got torched last year. And here's the kicker: it was from Karin Berquist.

He still looked like shit after dinner, so I suggested we go upstairs; he could watch TV in bed while I plowed through some paperwork I'd brought home from the office. He fell asleep with his arm slung over my thighs, and barely stirred when I finally got ready for bed.

The next night, he spent several hours surfing the 'Net, trying to find a way to prevent my premature demise. This is his current quest. Scully has joined him in it, and is working with one of my doctors, Dr. Plant, every chance she gets. Of course, Scully knows about my relationship with her partner. But she's not trying to save my life just for him; she's doing it because she's my friend now, too.

But back to Thursday night. I ventured into Fox's den around midnight to find him slumped over his keyboard. Christ, I had a bitch of a time getting him up the stairs to bed, he was so out of it. He's suffered from insomnia for years, but he coiled himself around me and went right back to sleep with no trouble at all. Strange.

That weekend, we went for long runs together in the mornings before he took off to hole up with those weird friends of his, the ones who publish "The Lone Gunman." The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced that the three of them know about Fox and me. He says he hasn't told them, and I believe him, but they're neither blind nor stupid. I still wish I'd gone there with him. I don't know if I could have helped much, but I'd least we would have been together. And he's always torn between spending time with me and searching for a way to permanently deactivate the nanocytes in my bloodstream. 

He and his friends didn't make much headway, and he came home both nights quiet and sombre. On Sunday, when I tried to initiate sex to cheer him up, or at least distract him from his lack of progress, he shocked the hell out of me by saying he was too tired. Fox Mulder too tired to make love? That was a first. Unfortunately, the shock of his answer didn't dampen my ardour. Unless it's really cold, we sleep in the nude, so it wasn't too difficult for him to realize that I was anything *but* tired. He nearly broke my heart by offering to get me off. I didn't let him, of course.

By Monday I was getting worried. It had been five days since we'd made love. That might not be a big deal for some people, but it was a veritable drought for us. He assured me that it had nothing to do with me, that he just needed to catch up on his sleep, but those old doubts and insecurities started coming back to haunt me. Was I getting too predictable for him? Too boring? Had he finally realized I wasn't attractive enough for him? Too old? I was starting to have evil thoughts about Karin Berquist, even though my mother had told me never to speak ill of the dead. And I hated Alex Krycek even more for jeopardizing my health in the first place and pushing Fox ever closer to the brink.

This morning, Fox received a call from Jackson, Mississippi, where a twister had demolished a prison farm. The mutilated body of the prison superintendent was found in a locked office, and the inmate who was the likeliest suspect was missing and presumed dead. That seemed to cheer Fox up a bit. He had the 302 on my desk within the hour, and was making flight arrangements before my signature had even dried on the paper. When I handed it back to him, he gave me a sad little smile and mouthed, "Sorry, Walter." Then he squeezed my shoulder, and I would have kissed him good-bye, thoroughly yet quietly, if Kim hadn't buzzed to announce my 11:15 was there.

"Later," I whispered to Fox. He nodded once and was gone.

As I listened to two of my other agents drone on about a case they were investigating, I couldn't stop thinking about Fox. I was glad that he had a fresh X-File to revitalize him, but I wasn't too thrilled that he was going out of town again so soon. He and Scully kept travel suitcases in the trunks of their cars so they wouldn't have to waste time going home to pack. It gave them a chance to do a little preparatory work before leaving the office straight for the airport.

I must sound like a selfish bastard, but I hate it when he has to run off like that. I know it's his job--a job he's extremely good at, and I felt that way long before I started sleeping with him--but I like to say good-bye properly. In private. Preferably in bed the night before or the morning of.

I knew he'd be busy, but I still wanted to see him at lunch, even if it meant just grabbing a hot dog from a street vendor and talking to him for a few minutes. At least we wouldn't have to worry about our conversation being recorded. That's why we still haven't fooled around in my office or his. We both tend to be rather vocal, and it's too damned risky.

Today was a perfect April day, so I eschewed my overcoat for my suit jacket, and told my personal assistant that I was stepping out for a bite to eat. By the way, Kim is one of those people I mentioned who knows the real Walter Skinner, so she was fully aware who I was planning to step out with.

Then something weird happened.

As I rode the elevator to the basement, I overheard some of my fellow passengers talking about how hot it was in their offices, and how they'd have to wait until after lunch to call maintenance because nobody was around. The little machines in my brain--as opposed to the ones in my blood--started to shift into high gear, and I came up with a scheme that was worthy of Fox Mulder himself.

Fox is usually too engrossed in his work to hear the ping of the elevator, so I stomped loudly as I walked toward his office. I didn't want to startle him. Without bothering to knock, I gently pushed his door open. He was alone, staring at the computer, his glasses perched on the end of his wonderful nose, taking notes. He looked up when I entered but I put my fingers to my lips. We're convinced his office is continually bugged, and both knew it hadn't been swept in a while. When I started doing the Marcel Marceau thing, he looked at me in confusion for a moment. Then he raised his eyebrows, logged off, grabbed his suit jacket, and walked past me into the hallway.

Instead of heading back to the elevators or the stairwell, I went off in the opposite direction, with Fox at my heels. I could almost feel his curiosity bouncing against my back as we turned the corner and stepped into a room neither one of us had ever been in before.

In the past, I've been pissed off that there are hardly any security cameras on the basement level. But today I felt differently. I didn't want to have to explain to anybody what I was doing with one of my subordinates in the Hoover's boiler room while the maintenance staff was at lunch.

Christ, it was noisy in there. And gloomy. And hot. And unoccupied. It was perfect.

Once the door closed behind us, Fox tugged at my sleeve and shouted, "Walter, what the hell are we doing here? I've got to catch a plane in a couple of hours."

"I know," I bellowed back. "Trust me." I took his hand and led him through the maze of pipes and furnaces and unidentifiable hulking objects until we reached a far corner that was uncommonly dark. After I slipped my glasses into my jacket pocket, I backed him up against the wall and kissed him. He started to laugh. But that made it difficult to kiss with any conviction, so I began undoing his pants, and the laughter stopped like magic.

"Walter," he hissed into my ear, "you're insane!" But he was unzipping my fly when he said it, so I kept undressing him. Our underwear and jackets soon joined our trousers on the concrete floor.

It was a really romantic scene, let me tell you: two grown men wearing nothing but ties flung over their shoulders, unbuttoned dress shirts, and socks, pawing desperately at each other in a filthy boiler room. But it worked for us. For the first time in days, he was hard and anxious to do something about it. God, I wanted him so badly...

Before I could make my move, he was licking his way down my throat and chest. When he was kneeling in front of me, he played with "his toys" for a while before taking me into his mouth. Oh, that sweet, hot mouth! I came so quickly it was embarrassing, faster than the very first time he ever touched me.

But when he stood up for a kiss, those dazzling white teeth showed me that he was satisfied with my reaction to his performance.

Then it was my turn to please him. I took my time sucking his nipples before attending to his balls. At the same time, I ran my thumb back and forth over the head of his cock, which was already wet. I thought I could hear him moan, even above the din of the room.

My knees were killing me, but it was worth it. When I guided him into my mouth, he started rubbing his hands all over my shoulders and head, up and down my neck, along my jaw. I reached around and dug my fingers into the firm flesh of his buttocks, then pulled him closer to me. He began to ejaculate the moment his cock touched the back of my throat, which made me feel a whole lot better about my own hair trigger. It's heartening to know that going without sex for so long has similar consequences for both of us.

Despite my discomfort, I stayed in that position a bit longer, my cheek resting on his flat belly, my arms around his slim waist. Then he pressed his lips against the top of my scalp and helped me to my feet. We both knew we'd better get going.

"Thanks, Walter," he yelled as he straightened my tie. "I love you, you crazy bastard."

I patted his hair down. "You're welcome. I love you too." You see, I've always had a way with words.

Then I heard a faint chirping sound coming from the pile of clothing on the floor. My cell phone? His? I found a jacket that had a pair of glasses in the breast pocket, then pulled out my cell from another pocket. When I flipped it open, I saw that the word "call" was blinking furiously.

We scrambled to get dressed, then brushed ourselves off as we left the boiler room. But by the time we got outside, whoever'd been trying to call me had given up.

As Fox and I walked back toward his office, we were met by Kim and Scully, who had a cell phone in her hand. At first they looked relieved to see us. Then both their faces froze in wide-eyed horror.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I was eating a sandwich at my desk when the Deputy Director called, demanding to speak with my boss.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but he left for lunch about 15 minutes ago," I explained.

"I don't give a damn," the DD barked. "Find him and tell him to report to my office ASAP." Then he hung up. (Rude man. I've never liked him.)

I tried AD Skinner's cell phone first, but it just kept ringing and ringing. Then I called Agent Mulder's office, hoping they'd be there. But his voicemail came on after five rings. As I was searching through my Rolodex for his cell phone number, Agent Scully walked up to my desk with a large envelope in her hand.

"Agent Scully, have you seen AD Skinner lately?"

"No, I haven't. I was just dropping off an expense report for him to approve." She looked at me closely. "Is there anything wrong, Kim?"

I figured she knew about my boss and her partner, but I wasn't sure I should let her know that *I* knew. "Well, the Deputy Director wants to see him immediately, but he's not answering his cell phone."

She cleared her throat. "Have you tried Agent Mulder? Maybe AD Skinner had some last-minute instructions for him before we leave for Mississippi."

"He doesn't appear to be in his office," I told her.

"Just a sec." She took her cell phone out of her handbag and hit a speed dial button. "I'll try his cell."

But she had no better luck reaching Agent Mulder than I did with Mr. Skinner.

"Do you--do you think they might have gone out? For lunch?" I asked quietly.

Instead of answering, she shook her head. "Could you please come with me, Kim?"

We walked to the elevator, and she pressed the "down" button. The first car that came had passengers. She let it go. The next one was empty. We took it. As we descended to the basement, she looked me square in the eye and said, "They just might not be answering their phones."

I nodded conspiratorially. "I thought that might be the case."

She nodded back and gave me a rueful smile. I think we were both glad to have another person to share our secret with. God, I still haven't told my husband...

When we arrived at the basement office, she knocked on the door. "Mulder? You in there?"

There was no answer.

We exchanged quick glances and she tried the knob. Nothing. She pulled out her keys and unlocked the door. Holding our collective breath, we entered the room. It was empty, and I felt a stab of disappointment. Where the hell was he? We backed out into the hallway.

"I've *got* to find him, Agent Scully. And soon. The DD sounded pretty angry." I stood closer to her so she could hear me whisper. "You don't think they went to a hotel, do you?"

I could tell she thought it was a definite possibility. "Well, no matter where they are, you'd think *one* of them would have the sense to answer his damned cell phone."

She tried their cell numbers again, but to no avail.

"I don't know what to say, Kim. They could be anywhere."

Just then, we heard footsteps fast approaching, and the gentlemen in question appeared from around a corner, striding down the hall toward us. And they were--

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"What's the matter, Scully? Kim?" Fox looked from them to me and shrugged.

Before I could open my mouth, those two petite women grabbed us by the arms and practically shoved us into Fox's office. Scully flicked on the lights and pointed at our legs.

Completely baffled, I looked down and had to bite back a mile-long string of cuss words.

Fox and I were wearing each other's pants.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Agent Scully clued in the moment I did. It was so obvious. AD Skinner's a couple of inches taller than Agent Mulder, and the hem of the trousers he was wearing was hovering around his ankles. Meanwhile, Agent Mulder looked like a little boy dressed in his daddy's slacks.

Besides that, their suit jackets were clearly mismatched. Mr. Skinner's was medium grey, while Agent Mulder's was black with a fine white pinstripe. If the DD had seen them like this, I shudder to think what would have happened.

So, Agent Scully and I did the only thing we could do under the circumstances: we took them into Agent Mulder's office to set things straight.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I still can't believe we got our damned pants mixed up. When I look back on it, I knew that something wasn't right about the way they felt when I put them on. But I'd just gotten lucky for the first time in days, and I'm not exactly swift when I'm freshly post-coital.

We stood there like a couple of idiots in front of Kim and Scully. Poor Fox! He looked as mortified as I felt. I gestured for them to leave the room and they did, but not before pointing to their watches and indicating that we should hurry.

"Why?" I mouthed to Kim.

Looking more frantic than I've seen her in a long time, she grabbed a piece of paper and a pen from Fox's desk, scribbled like mad for a few seconds, then shoved the note at me. It said, "DD wants to see you NOW."

Ooops. I nodded to her and she left with Scully.

Once we were alone, Fox and I silently exchanged pants. Jesus, what a difference there was in the way they fit! What the hell were we thinking?

I looked at Fox, then drew him in for a hug. "Sorry about that, babe," I whispered into his ear.

"S'okay," he whispered back. "I'll call you tonight from Jackson."

"You'd better. Gonna miss you."

"You too, Walter."

We were enjoying a good-bye kiss when Scully and Kim charged back into the office. With a final look at Fox, I was herded out the door and into the elevator by two five-foot-nothing pitbulls in heels.

Was my humiliation over for the day? Hardly. As Kim brushed the remaining dust off my clothes, Scully rummaged through her purse and shoved something into my hand. It was a roll of peppermint Lifesavers. I could feel the heat flood my cheeks, a telltale sign that I was turning into a lobster again.

"You'd better have one before you talk to the DD. Or *anybody*, for that matter," she advised.

"Thanks," I mumbled, popping one of the candies into my mouth. I couldn't look at her.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

For as long as I live, I'll never forget the look on their faces when they realized their mix-up.

Mr. Skinner actually blushed--from his shirt collar to the top of his head. I thought Agent Mulder was going to pass out.

But there was no time for anyone to have the vapours. Knowing how the walls have ears around this place, I quickly wrote my boss a note, telling him about his emergency meeting with the DD. Then Agent Scully and I stepped outside to give them some privacy while they changed.

When the AD still hadn't come out a few minutes later, we went back in--rather brazenly, I thought--to see what was keeping him. As I suspected, they were in each other's arms. From the way Agent Scully sucked her breath in through her teeth, I was sure it was the first time she'd ever seen them kiss. They do it quite well, too. 

Anyway, they jumped like scared rabbits, and we got AD Skinner out of there before he and Agent Mulder could get themselves into any more trouble.

You know, my job has certainly become more interesting since those two started seeing each other. I can hardly wait for my next performance review. You see, I've been thinking about getting a new car...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Kim and Dana got off on the fourth floor. The elevator was half full, and I started to relax now that I was among people who didn't know the more intimate details of my sex life. The embarrassment of nearly getting caught with my pants--well, not *down*, exactly, but you know what I mean--was fading. Without thinking, I chuckled and shook my head over my own audacity. *That* earned me a few stares from my fellow passengers. But I just couldn't help myself.

It's funny what love will make you do.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Agent Scully came back to my desk with me and collapsed into the nearest chair. It was like we'd just run a 5k race. Maybe a 10k. I called the Deputy Director's office to say that AD Skinner was on his way up.

Then Dana and I looked at each other, and we started to giggle. Before long, we were laughing like hyenas, with tears making a mess of my supposedly waterproof mascara.

"Kim," she said when she got herself under control, "I'd like to have lunch with you when I get back from this assignment."

"Great idea," I told her. "I'm looking forward to it."

She patted my shoulder and, still dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, left to collect Agent Mulder.

I sat down and finished my sandwich. Yep. A raise was *definitely* in order.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The meeting wasn't as life-and-death as I'd thought it would be. But that's the DD for you: always throwing his weight around, trying to scare the shit out of people.

By the time it ended, Fox and Dana were long gone. Kim gave me a shy smile when she handed me my messages.

"Everything okay, Sir?"

"Yes. Fine. Thanks, Kim. For--um, thanks."

//For saving my ass. And Fox's,// was what I meant. And she knew it.

Now I'm at home, watching a basketball game, waiting for Fox to call. I've got sore, angry red marks on both knees, but I don't regret how I got them. Not for a second. I've got that memory to get me through the next few lonely days and nights.

At least I've learned something from all of this. The *next* time I drag Fox off into a dark room for a quickie, I'll have to be a lot more careful about getting dressed afterward. Putting on each other's clothes is something that never crossed my mind before, but then, I've never been involved with another guy before, so why should it? And it's not like one of us is ever going to wear skirt. Or a...

Oh, God, Skinner--now you've done it! Fox is going to be gone for God knows how long and here you are, thinking about him in a *kilt*. My very own Braveheart certainly has the legs for it. And under the kilt? Nothing, of course. I can imagine myself on my knees, the woolen fabric gently scratching the back of my head as I bury my face between his legs and take him with my mouth. And, later, I'd bend him over my desk, lift the hem from behind, and slam into him until we both screamed...

Christ, I'm going to give myself a coronary if I don't cut this out. 

Come on, phone. Ring, damn you!

I just want to hear his voice. To know that he's safe, and that he misses me as much as I miss him. To tell him how much I love him. And not just for his beautiful, willing body.

But he knows that already.

Because he knows me better than anyone--and not just in DC.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~   
Fini  
April 26, 1999


End file.
